


just a mile outta hell

by handyhunter



Category: Kate Shugak Series, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-19
Updated: 2010-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-07 09:31:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handyhunter/pseuds/handyhunter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, meet Kate. Kate, meet Dean. Set sometime between S2 and S3 of Supernatural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just a mile outta hell

The bar was like any other bar, almost -- hell, it was even named The Roadhouse, and not that he'd have admitted it (because it was ridiculous to think they'd be here), but he might have looked for Ellen and Jo upon entering. The bartender was a skinny middle aged man with long, stringy hair, and he was more than happy to serve Dean drinks as long as he had cash. The jukebox in the far corner had played nothing but the Temptations' _Seventeen Greatest Hits_ since he'd walked in, but when he'd made a move towards it, the black guy in the wheelchair glared at him and Dean decided to alter his trajectory back to the bar. The blonde sitting next to the black dude was pretty enough for a second look, were it not evident that they were together and doing so might get him shot more quickly than attempting to preempt My Girl.

"Free throws win ball games," Dean read out loud, eyeing the homemade sign propped up on a shelf containing various bottles of alcohol and a shiny trophy proclaiming the local team state champions.

The bartender brightened visibly. "You ever play?"

Dean shook his head, but it didn't seem to deter the other guy any, as he expounded on the merits of free throws.

It wasn't quite a _hunter's_ bar, but there was that same thrum of restrained tension - near as Dean could tell, some of it went back centuries and some was fresh from the last time someone cheated (apparently, it was something of a sporting event in these parts) - overlaid by the sounds of conversation, David Ruffin singing about "sunshine on a cloudy day," and the TV, playing some old show that a couple of old, weathered guys were heckling cheerfully. And most everyone looked to be carrying at least one type of firearm.

"...ah, hi, Kate." The bartender braced himself as a freaking _wolf_ launched itself at him, front paws balanced on the ledge of the bar, and whatever else he might have said was cut off abruptly.

"Jesus Christ," breathed Dean. The wolf dropped down to the floor with a generous piece of jerky clenched between its teeth, and Dean let his hand fall away from his gun. No one else seemed to think this was anything out of the ordinary.

"The usual?" said the bartender, his face evidently still intact, and without waiting for an answer he set a glass on the bar and filled it with Seven Up.

"Thanks, Bernie. Introduce me to your new friend."

It took Dean a moment to realize that the woman standing next to the wolf was talking about him. There were altogether too many white teeth for his peace of mind as the wolf gulped down the jerky in about three bites. He broke contact with the wide, yellow eyes and met slanted brown ones that were maybe a shade less terrifying. "We don't get many visitors around these parts," she said in a rough voice. Dean's gaze dropped down involuntarily to the thin, white scar that peeked out from under her shirt collar. He met her eyes again and found her staring at him.

He swallowed the last of his lukewarm beer and flashed her his second best FBI smile. "Name's Dean."

"Kate," she returned, not smiling. "Want to get out of here?"

Somehow, he didn't think she was propositioning him. He dropped a few bills on the bar and followed her out anyway. If she were going to kill him, she'd have done it already. He'd heard about her, of course; it was damned difficult to get answers out of anyone in this town without running into her, in spirit if not in the flesh... Turned out, she was a lot shorter than he'd imagined. And with all the government people - Christ on a stick, who knew such a sorry excuse for a town could have so many agents and cops - he'd been rather careful about waving any fake identification around, not that many people he'd spoken to seemed all that inclined to ask. No one told him about her goddamn wolf, though, who was following them out.

There wasn't anything but the lone road and a bunch of trees outside. And it was really freaking cold, but he seemed to be the only one who noticed that.

"We're not going home yet, Mutt." The wolf had stopped at the brand new truck that looked out of place among the clutter of snowmobiles and other vehicles that had seen better days, but came forward again at Kate's voice.

"_This_ is Mutt?" Dean held his ground under that unblinking yellow stare. "I thought she'd be more... mutt-like." His voice trailed off as the wolf stepped closer to him.

Kate looked amused. "Hold out your hand."

"I'd like to keep it, thanks." Mutt sat on her haunches, watching the both of them with an eerie expression much too similar to Kate's.

"She won't bite." Unless you tell her to. "Unless I tell her to."

He offered his hand, slowly, ready to snatch it back if the wolf had any untoward designs on it. She merely sniffed it politely and sneezed, then sat down again.

"Those bodies at the gorge," Kate said, without preamble, and Dean's attention snapped back to the other half of this dangerous pair. "They're not there any more."

No, and salting and burning bodies at this freezing ass temperature was an experience he didn't want to repeat any time soon. "What makes you think I had anything to do with them?"

"Trail of bodies from St. Louis to here." The breeze ruffled her short, black hair and she tucked a wayward strand behind her ear; her movements were calm - casual, even.

"I didn't kill anyone," he said almost reflexively and could've bit his tongue at how defensive he sounded.

"I know that," she said, a touch impatient. "What I don't know is what happened at the gorge."

"Sorry." Dean rubbed his hand over his face. "Don't usually get past the 'I didn't kill them' part."

"We've had a series of killings before, but nothing like this." She sounded weary, and disgusted. "And then you and your brother showed up and they stopped." She shrugged. "It wasn't difficult to put two and two together, and it seems to me that's a similar pattern, following your FBI file."

"How'd you--" He cut himself off, contemplating. "You have connections at the FBI?"

Mutt stood up and eyed him curiously and strolled over to rub her head on his knee. He let his hand fall on her head, rubbing behind her ears; Dad never let them have a dog, but this kid in third grade had one, brought it to show-and-tell once. Mutt wagged her tail encouragingly.

"Nothing that would be any use to you," said Kate. "The killers?"

"Taken care of," he said shortly. "Listen, this isn't something you want to get involved in."

"The other kids? They're safe now?" She threw down the questions like she was issuing a challenge, and his eyes slid to her throat again.

Was _that_ what she wanted to know? "Yeah, should be." Her mouth pulled down into a frown. "Yes," he said, with more conviction. "We got 'em." These particular spirits anyway. Her expression didn't ease, and he thought maybe she understood.

"I _hate_ the weird ones," she finally said. "Why were you looking for me?"

"Well, I'd heard so much about you." Dean offered a small smile. Kate _hmm_ed. "Namely, that you know the trooper 'round these parts." A factoid he'd picked up in his inquiries, often told to him with a sigh of regret (mostly by females) or relief (mostly by husbands or fathers of said females). Not for the first time, Dean studied the woman standing in front of him with a speculative eye.

"That I do," she said, levelling her gaze at him long enough to make the tips of his ears start to burn.

"Um. Uh. Well, the thing is." He glanced around for inspiration; Mutt lolled her tongue at him, blissfully unworried by his discomposure as long as he was petting her. "Your trooper has my brother locked up, and I was wondering if maybe you could…"

Kate's eyes narrowed. "Exert my feminine wiles?"

"Yeah! …Or something." Dean sighed. When did women become so difficult to talk to? "Sam was the distraction, but he got caught." Something about alien spaceships - possibly the Millennium Falcon, not that she or her crew were aliens… and shitting seagulls, all of which Dean edited out; he'd get the full story from Sam later. "He's sitting in jail and our flight -" he choked a little on the word "-is leaving in two hours and we really need to be on it."

There was no way to drive from Seattle to Niniltna in four hours; Niniltna wasn't even on mapquest for God's sake - how the hell did Sam _find_ this case? - and he had to take not one, but _two_ planes, the second of which was a tiny, old plane with _propellers_ that could barely get off the ground and shuddered with every breeze. He thought he might puke, right then and there, and he wasn't sure if that would help his case or not -- not with Kate looking at him all askance. Dean fiddled with his ring and hummed to himself to calm down.

"Did Jim press any formal charges?"

Dean stopped mid-hum. Jim, he worked out, was the trooper's name. "I don't think so." But cell reception wasn't great and he'd only picked up about every third word Sam had said. If it came down to it, Dean would bust Sam out, but the quieter option was to be preferred here. It wasn't like either of them knew how to fly a plane, and they already stuck out like a pair of sore thumbs.

Kate thought for a moment, though what she was mulling over he couldn't begin to guess. "Hop in. I'll give you a ride." Dean held the door open for Mutt, and followed her into the cab of the truck.


End file.
